Until Someday (Part 2)

It’s Friday and time for part 2 of this year’s Christmas story. (Find Part 1 here)

          After my dad left, life became much less stressful. And, while I keenly felt the loss of my dad, the peace in our home was a much needed respite from the perpetual strife I had experienced in my short lifetime.
          My mom was not unkind, although she was a bit rough around the edges. She did her best and I respected her for that. It wasn’t until I was in my late-20s, that something happened that totally changed the course of my life.
          My mom had worked really hard to make a good life for my brother and me. Again, this was in large part possible because of the kindness of strangers, who paid the rent for us to live in that little cabin by the lake until Mom had put herself through nursing school while working full-time. She graduated when I was seventeen and, from that point on, was able to care for her family without help.
          My brother and I were able to find jobs at local businesses and we gave a good portion of our earnings to help mom with our expenses. My “little” brother wasn’t very little anymore, having grown a good six inches taller than me.
          After graduation, I was offered a job as an administrative assistant in the company where I had worked during high school and continued to live at home. But my brother had big dreams of becoming an engineer. He was a brilliant student and earned a scholarship to a great school, graduating with honors. After his four years at university he was offered a job in Seattle, which he accepted. We were so happy for him but so very sad for ourselves. We knew that Seattle meant times together would be far and few between.
          And so it ended up being just me and mom, living a quiet and mostly content life. Several years passed by unremarkably. Until that dreaded and unexpected day.
          Mom was diagnosed with stage four cancer two days after my twenty-seventh birthday. The next year was a roller coaster, one moment experiencing hope for healing and then the next, having those hopes destroyed with the next scan.
          In the middle of that year, something happened that would have repercussions for eternity. My mom decided she wanted to go to church. This was not unexpected. Knowing that her time on earth was short, she wanted to make sure she knew where she was going when she died. She had been agonizing over this since her diagnosis and I knew she had to go on her own search for peace.
          I encouraged her, although I felt no compulsion to join her. If I am honest, I was pretty angry at God at this point. I had already lost my dad and now I was losing my mom. I told her to have a great time that first Sunday morning and went back to bed.
          By God’s great grace and mercy, my mom ended up at a little Bible church a couple of miles down the road. We had passed it countless times and when Mom decided to try church, this seemed a natural choice. Unbeknownst to her at the time was the pastor’s dedication to God and to preaching His Word without compromise. That Sunday, the pastor preached the true Gospel as found in the scriptures and my mom was saved from sin and hell the very first time she attended.
          She came home very excited about her newfound faith. She shared with me that she now had a peace that defied her diagnosis. I humored her by listening but my heart was hard. I’d believe this big change when I saw it.
          But, surprisingly, I really did see it. My mom was a totally different person. I could see Jesus changing her. Oh, it wasn’t instant or miraculous. But, day by day, I noticed that she was living with a new attitude that was affecting how she lived. She really did have a peace that lasted far beyond that first day and she also had a newfound joy that permeated her life, despite her ill health.
          Within a few months, I was joining mom at church and two weeks before she entered eternity, I was able to tell her that I would see her again in heaven. I had repented of my sin and placed my faith and trust in Jesus Christ alone for salvation.
          Those last few weeks together were so very bittersweet. Sweet because now we knew, without a doubt, that we’d see each other again in heaven. But, oh so bitter, because she had become my best friend and losing her was going to be harder than I could even imagine. I couldn’t even fathom what my life would look like without her.
          During those last few days, when she was still able to talk, she requested something of me that was totally unexpected.
          “Tara, dear…I need you to do something for me…” she began.
          “Sure, mom, whatever you need,” I answered. I had no idea how big her request was.
          She began, “I have made a lot of mistakes in my life,”  she sighed and stared out the window for a moment and then went on, “my hard heart and sinful actions caused so much pain and strife for others. I realize that now. I have been able to make things right with some of those I hurt so badly,” her eyes welled up with tears and I remembered the emotional phone call she had had a few weeks before with her parents. She continued, “But I cannot find your father. It’s like he has disappeared. Even his parents don’t know where he is.”
          My heart started to beat as it began to dawn on me what she was going to request.
          “My dear Tara, oh, how I love you,” she continued, “you have been the evidence of God’s grace in my life long before I even knew He cared about me. And now I have this one last request of you: Can you find your father and let him know how very sorry I am? Can you tell him about your faith in Christ and how Jesus changed both of us? Would you tell him that Jesus can change his life, too? I know this is a big request and if you just do not want to do it, I understand…” she stopped, her eyes begging me to say yes.
          “Oh, mom, of course I will,” I answered. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it but I wasn’t about to deny my mom her dying wish. How cold-hearted would that be?
          She started reminiscing about my dad and how much she wished things had been different. Her soft heart was filled with many regrets and mourned over what might have been. It was during that hour of conversation that I found out that my dad’s parents had been the ones to pay for our little cabin all those years.
          “I don’t know this, for sure, Tara, but I have a feeling that your grandparents already know Jesus by some things your father used to say. Plus their genuine love for me and you kids, despite what happened with their son was extraordinary,” as she spoke I remembered the cards and gifts that would come faithfully every birthday and Christmas from Grandpa and Grandma Elsher in New York. And, while I am sure I met them before we moved away, I didn’t have any memory of them at all. I wouldn’t have known either of them if we had bumped into each other on the street.
          I realized, in that moment, that I would visit my paternal grandparents even before I searched for Dad. I owed them a visit. A visit that was long past due.
         “Don’t worry, Mom, I will find Dad and I’ll tell him,” I reassured her.
          My mom sighed deeply and then fell into a peaceful sleep.